


My Heart Is Beating For This (Moment in Time)

by larrymylove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Banter, Basically this starts off as being really angsty, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gentleness, Getting to Know Each Other, Laughter, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Past Abuse, Prostitution, all sweetness, but winds up being completely fluffy and soft and sweet, literally it's practically all softness and sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymylove/pseuds/larrymylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a French escort and his first client is unlike anything Louis ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Is Beating For This (Moment in Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier today, I was like "I want a Gigi AU where Louis is a being brought up to be a French escort and Harry comes along and sweeps him up." And then I decided, well why not write that? It kind of took on a mind of it's own. And while it does mention prostitution, there is literally no sex and no smut. It's all softness and sweetness which was what I wanted for this story because of the kind of dubious plotline. Hope you enjoy!

Louis Tomlinson sat at the old wooden vanity as he raked a brush over his soft, chestnut hair. He felt the bile rise up in his throat, and he was certain that in any moment now, he was going to vomit whatever was possibly left in his stomach. That was the reason he’d avoid eating all day, knowing that if he put anything down on his churning stomach, it’d just come back up again. Louis watched his reflection in the mirror as he adjusted his fringe slightly to the left. He had to admit, he looked good. He was wearing tight black trousers and a burgundy shirt that hung loose around his collarbones - his best feature according to Mr. Cowell. And that had been Mr. Cowell’s first lesson - ingrained him since childhood - _always market your best assets._ Louis lifted a small bottle of cologne and spritzed some on his neck. He knew he looked good tonight, but in spite of that, his eyes looked so hollow. He hated that look. They looked like his mother’s, and that broke his heart.

The door to his bedroom creaked open and his mother stepped in. She stood behind Louis, meeting his eyes in the mirror, as she began to run her fingers through his hair.

“I’ve already brushed it, Mother,” Louis said, his stomach churning and his voice taking on a hint of bitterness. He didn’t want to hate her for this, but he couldn’t help the feelings of disdain that crept through him as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. He knew she hadn’t had a choice when she made this her lifestyle. He’d been just ten days old when his father had fucked off to God knows where, leaving a young Johannah all alone with a new baby. She’d turned to Mr. Cowell, their landlord, for help. His answer to all her problems was to work for him as prostitute. Johannah accepted, and Mr. Cowell allowed them to continue to live in their small, humble apartment rent-free, as long as she gave him a cut of her money.

Now that Louis was of age, Mr. Cowell had decided to turn Louis out for him as well. Only Louis was young, and Louis was pretty. And Mr. Cowell was _greedy_. He knew Louis could make plenty of money as an escort instead. Ever since Louis was twelve, he’d been groomed for this. Mr. Cowell taught him how to walk, how to talk, how to seduce men. He taught Louis how to throw his voice so that he’d fit in more with the higher class. And with some time, and the forceful encouragement from the cruel hand of Mr. Cowell, Louis passed.

And tonight, he was seventeen. And tonight, he had his first client. And tonight, Louis wished to God that he’d never been born.

“You look so beautiful, darling,” Johannah said, her voice shaking slightly as she said it.

Louis bristled before turning to his mother, burying his face into her stomach, “Mummy, please,” he begged, “I don’t want to do this.”

Johannah pulled back and scolded harshly, “Don’t you dare let Mr. Cowell hear you say such a thing, Louis William! You’re old enough now to know better than that sort of talk. You know what Mr. Cowell will do to you if he catches wind of that kind of speak coming from you.”

“But…” Louis felt shattered and completely betrayed.

“I don’t want to hear your arguments, young man. You know that this is what you have to do, Louis. You’ve known it for years. This is your _destiny_ , Louis. Embrace it.”

Louis turned back to the mirror. He hated the ways his eyes looked. The emptiness had been replaced with fear, and Louis wasn’t sure which was worse.

“You have ten minutes, Louis. The carriage will be here shortly and I will come fetch you. No more of this talk,” Johannah softened slightly, pressing her hand to Louis’ cheek, “It’s not a bad life, baby. It’s not. You’ll make good money and you’ll be able to support yourself. It’s an admirable job, Louis. You’re an escort, baby. The men you’ll service will be of a different class. They’ll be gentlemen with you and you’ll be cared for at their hands. It’s a better life than that of a simple prostitute.”

Louis’ heart shattered as she said that. He stood from the vanity and wrapped his arms around her frame, “Mother...” he said, not really knowing what else to say. 

“You’ll be safe, Louis,” Johannah gave him a tight, quick squeeze, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mother,” Louis said, kissing her cheek.

When the carriage arrived, Louis headed down the steps to the entrance of the apartment. Mr. Cowell was standing there with his arms folded and a sour expression on his face. Louis always thought he looked like he’d been sucking on lemon wedges.

“Louis William,” Mr. Cowell said, his voice raising the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck, “I trust you know what is expected of you tonight. I have taken it upon myself to find you a young patron. I could have chosen anyone offering the highest price for you. Instead, I took you into consideration. I am losing money in doing so, so please be grateful. He’s a young man of the aristocracy. I think he just wants a plaything. You know what’s expected of you. You are to come back in the morning with the money I am owed. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Louis nodded. And then, knowing Mr. Cowell all too well, he tacked on, “Thank you, sir.”

“Right, right,” Mr. Cowell turned away, “Be off with you, then.”

Louis headed out into the dark Paris night. He ducked into the carriage, and before he could even look back at the small apartment, the carriage driver cracked the reins and they were headed off down the cobblestone street. He felt his stomach churning. Each time the carriage jostled, Louis had to swallow the bile down his throat. He wanted to run, but where would he go? He had no money. At least with Mr. Cowell and his mother, he had a bed and a roof over his head and meals every day. He could never afford those things if he were to walk away from it all.

The carriage pulled in front of a hotel. The hotel had black awnings and many stories and Louis had never seen such a beautiful building in his entire life. He felt a tad breathless. The carriage driver came around and opened the side door for him. Louis hopped out and thanked the driver. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket that Mr. Cowell had given him that morning. On it, was a room number. Louis took a deep breath and headed up to the main entrance.

“May I help you, sir?” The doorman asked.

“Yes,” Louis couldn’t help his voice from squeaking, “I’m here for Room 433.”

“Ah yes,” the doorman said, “Go on up.”

“Thank you, sir,” Louis headed through the huge glass doors. He could feel the doorman’s eyes on him as he entered. He knew who he was, and why he was there. Louis wondered if everyone could tell. Was it written across his body? A tattoo he could never wash off? Louis headed up the small lift. The attendee asked him what floor, and Louis told him, “four.”

As the lift began to creak upwards, Louis felt as though he was going to pass out. Perhaps not eating hadn’t been the best of choices. He felt weak, and he wondered how much longer his legs could hold his own weight. He just wanted to go home, wanted to crawl into his bed and fall asleep and dream of things outside of his life.

The lift finally came to a stop. Louis took a deep breath, his feet frozen in place.

“This is your floor, sir,” the attendee said.

Louis nodded, willing his feet to move. He stepped off the lift and searched around for which direction to head. Slowly, he made his way to Room 433. He felt as if he were walking to his death. For all the beatings he’d endured at the hands of Mr. Cowell, he’d never felt such fear as he currently did in this moment. He had no idea what to expect. Would his client be kind? Would he be ugly? Would he be cruel? Would he hurt him? Would he laugh at him? Louis wanted to die. He prayed that God would send a lightning bolt to strike him down right then and there. But he knew better than to expect things from God.

He found the correct room and raised his fist to knock on the door. He could do this. He just needed to block it out. He needed to pretend he was somewhere else - a beach perhaps. Louis had never been to a beach before. But he imagined he was currently laying out on the warm sand as the sun kissed his skin and the waves of the sea lapped at his toes. He was on a beach, he wasn’t in this Paris hotel, about to be used for a price. He was on a beach and it was sunny and beautiful and there was no such thing as selling one’s self, or Mr. Cowell, or beatings. 

“Coming!” A voice from behind the door called. Louis swallowed so hard that it hurt. 

Suddenly, the door opened, startling Louis. Standing there was a young man, surely not much older than himself. He was dressed in an exquisite suit, and Louis wondered how many hot meals a suit like that could pay for. The young man had dark curls that fell down past his shoulders. He was wearing a dress shirt with pearl buttons and Louis was quite certain he’d never seen real pearls in his entire life.

“Hello,” the young man said, opening the door wider, “Come in, come in.”

“Hello,” Louis said, trying to will his voice not to shake. The hotel room was stunning - the carpets were deep red, and an extravagant chandelier hung in the entryway of the room. A large fireplace was off to one wall, roaring with high flames. Louis reveled in the warmth. Even though they had a stove in their apartment, it didn’t always work properly and Mr. Cowell always seemed to forget when it needed fixing.

“Hi,” the young man smiled, displaying a large dimple in his cheek, “I’m Harry.”

“Hi, Harry,” Louis stared down at the carpeting as he said, “I’m Louis.”

Mr. Cowell had trained him for years for this. But all that training seemed to fall away. Louis suddenly felt his mind go blank. He had no idea what to say or do. Was he to make the first move? What if he was completely making a fool of himself right now? What if Harry was laughing at him? Louis felt his cheeks sting pink.

“You’re very young,” Harry noted.

“I’m seventeen,” Louis argued, glancing up to meet Harry’s gaze, “I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not a child,” Harry said, his voice softening, “I just...when I asked for someone young, I didn’t expect...well...you.”

“Should I be going then?” Louis asked bitingly, not really liking the thought of having to return to Mr. Cowell empty handed.

“No, no!” Harry paled, looking suddenly startled, “Not at all! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, Louis. I just...I was taken back by your age.”

“Could say the same for you,” Louis said, crossing his arms over his chest, “You look pretty green behind the ears as well.” He knew if Mr. Cowell had heard him say such a comment, he’d slap him on the spot. But Mr. Cowell wasn’t here. And Louis was having difficulty showing respect for a man hardly older than himself, a man with dimples at that.

“Hey,” Harry pouted slightly, and Louis wished he didn’t find that as endearing as he did, “I’m not _that_ young.”

“And how old are you then?” Louis asked.

“Do you always ask your clients how old they are?” Harry raised a brow.

Louis blanched, the reality of their exchange hitting him like a pile of bricks. He wasn’t here to banter or make friends. He wasn’t here to tease and be snarky. He was here to pleasure a client. That was all. Harry was a client, and Louis was the product he’d paid for.

“Right,” Louis cleared his throat, grasping the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, “Tell me what services you want tonight, sir.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he stepped closer to Louis and pushed his hands down away from his shirt gently, “No,” Harry shook his head, “Not...not that.”

“Okay?” Louis eyed him suspiciously, reaching up to unbuckle his belt.

“No,” Harry shook his head again, “Louis, I don’t...I don’t want those services from you.”

“I thought you said I should stay?” Louis was now thoroughly confused. Nothing Mr. Cowell had said prepared Louis for this circumstance. He felt unwanted and he supposed he should be glad for that. But at the same time, he kept in mind that he was meant to be a product. And now, he was a product that someone didn’t want. And he’d have to return home with no money in his pocket. And Mr. Cowell would surely punish him for it.

“Yes, but I...I don’t want sex, Louis.”

“I still need to be paid though,” Louis tugged at his fringe, “My...my boss won’t be happy with me if I don’t come back with payment.”

“Of course I’ll still pay you,” Harry said, sounding practically insulted, “You don’t have to worry about that, Louis. I am buying your time right now. You will get proper payment for it.”

“Thank you,” Louis muttered. 

“Of course. I don’t want sex tonight, Louis. That’s not why I hired you. I want…” Harry turned away slightly, brushing his curls back with the flat of his hand, “...I want company.”

“Company?” Louis raised a brow.

“Yes,” Harry turned back around, sheepishly, “I wanted someone to talk to.”

“Don’t you have friends for that?” Louis asked.

Harry bristled slightly, “No, actually. I don’t. My friends are the sons of my father’s friends. I have no ties to them, just as they have no ties to me. There is no real comradeship there, Louis. Just bloodline loyalties. And with them, I have to keep putting on this facade, and I’m tired of facades. I just want someone I can talk to without having to wear a mask. Can you be that person? If just for tonight?”

Louis shrugged, still confused, “I can try,” he said.

“Come, sit,” Harry motioned to the two big arm chairs beside the roaring fireplace, “Would you like something to drink perhaps?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Louis said, sitting down on the chair. He felt his whole body relax under the comfort of the chair and with the warmth of the fire. He felt as though he was thawing slightly. All the tension he’d built up seemed to float away entirely. But he was still suspicious. Harry was young and Harry was strange and Harry fascinated him. Louis didn’t quite know what to make of him.

“I actually needed someone to just...open up to,” Harry said, sitting down in the chair opposite Louis, “I’ve never quite done this before. But um...I wanted to talk to someone about what I’m feeling. And what I’m feeling is unhappiness.”

“What are you unhappy about?” Louis asked gently.

“Everything,” Harry said with a casual wave of his hand, “I’m unhappy with my family, unhappy with the money, unhappy with the expectations placed upon me. I’m unhappy with the parties and the dull conversations that are said at every social gathering - the weather is horrid this time of year, have you been hunting recently, do you fancy this brandy...it’s so dull, dull, _dull_.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis blinked, not really knowing what to say, or what to make of this night.

“Sometimes I just want to run away from it all. I could, you know. I could. My grandfather left me a good bit of inheritance. It’s in my name and no one else’s. I could take that money and go anywhere far away from here and just...travel. Explore. I could go to the mountains or to the tropics or…”

“To a beach,” Louis said wistfully.

“A beach,” Harry nodded in agreement, startling Louis. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “Would you like to go to a beach?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged, “I’ve never been to one before,” he admitted, “I imagine they’re nice.”

“They are,” Harry said, “The sunbeams reach down and kiss your skin, the waves of the sea tickle at your toes. The scent of saltwater in the air is one of the most magnificent scents in the entire world…”

Louis sighed dreamily, “I would quite like to go to the sea one day.”

“You should!” Harry said enthusiastically.

Louis shrunk into the armchair, “I can’t, Harry. People like me...we don’t go to the sea.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned.

“Harry,” Louis stared into the flames of the fire, “I have no money, I have no means of traveling like that. Besides, my mother and Mr. Cowell would never let me.”

“So?” Harry asked, “Screw them! You can go if you want.”

“I can’t,” Louis turned further away, “You truly don’t get it, Harry. You couldn’t understand it if you tried. You can’t understand unless you live this life. But I am not...I’m not _like_ you, Harry. I am not...I’m _property_ , Harry. I’m property of Mr. Cowell. I can’t just leave and go where I want and do what I want. I’ve been brought up with a certain purpose, and that purpose is to be an escort to clients, to bring Mr. Cowell money. If I can’t do my purpose, Mr. Cowell will not be pleased with me. I literally do not have a choice. Do you think I want to be an escort, Harry? Because I can assure you, I don’t. I’d have rather been stricken dead than have to come to your room tonight. Do you know that?”

Louis glanced to Harry from the corner of his eye, seeing him stiffen slightly. “Louis,” Harry began, “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Louis shrugged, “It is what it is. You were born into your life, and I was born into mine.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Harry shook his head, “Is Mr. Cowell terribly cruel to you?” 

Louis shrugged again, “I don’t want to talk about Mr. Cowell.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry winced slightly, “I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No,” Louis shook his head, “It’s alright. It’s just...tonight I am in a beautiful hotel room with you - a beautiful boy, who I feel like I can have a good conversation with. I don’t know of any Mr. Cowell’s tonight.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Harry blushed slightly.

“Shut up,” Louis mumbled, glancing away shyly.

“Okay,” Harry laughed, “For tonight, I am not Harry Styles, son of an aristocrat. And you are not Louis, an escort whom I’m paying for. There are no Mr. Cowells or Mr. Styles. There’s just you and there’s just me. Just this room. For tonight, let’s be friends.”

“You buying my friendship for the night?” Louis raised a brow.

Harry held up a hand, “Nuh-uh,” he said, “Remember, we are just Harry and Louis for tonight. Just friends having a good catching up beside the fire. I am tired of my lonely life, Louis. For tonight, I’m pretending it doesn’t exist. All that exists is us and this room.”

“I like the sound of that,” Louis had to admit. He wished what Harry said was true. He wished that there was no Mr. Cowells, no other clients he’d have to go to tomorrow night. He wished all that existed was what was within these four walls. For tonight, this would be his world.

“Tell me about yourself,” Harry said, “Things I don’t already know, and can’t guess based on what I do know. Tell me...what’s your favorite food?”

Louis thought it over slightly before answering, “When I was a kid, Mother would buy me a pastry from a bakery every Sunday morning. She stopped doing that when I got older. But they were so delicious. Hot and fresh and dusted with sugar. I think they were almond flavored. Those are my favorite food.”

“Those sound heavenly, Louis,” Harry said, and Louis couldn’t help the small smile on his face.

“What’s your favorite food, Harry?” Louis asked.

“Hmmm,” Harry bit his bottom lip as he thought it over, “Lamb chops with mint. Definitely.”

“Such a _bourgeoisie_ answer, Harold,” Louis scoffed teasingly.

“Hey,” Harry pouted, “They’re yummy.”

“I’m sure,” Louis rolled his eyes, “Lamb chops with mint, _honestly_ …”

Harry reached towards the candy dish on the small table beside him. He grabbed a wrapped butterscotch candy and tossed it at Louis, laughing.

“Oi!” Louis picked up the candy that had landed in his lap, and tossed it back.

“Other than a beach,” Harry said suddenly, “Where would you like to go?”

Louis bit his lower lip, “Um...I’ve never actually been to the Eiffel tower before. Maybe there. What about you?”

“A private island somewhere exotic. With exotic birds.”

“Exotic birds?” Louis raised his brows, “Seriously?”

“What?” Harry frowned, “I’ve read books on exotic birds. I’d quite like to see a flamingo one day.”

“A flamingo?” Louis laughed, “You’re a flamingo.”

“What do you know about flamingos?” Harry tossed the candy again.

“Nothing,” Louis giggled, tossing the candy back, “Just that you are one.”

“You’re a brat,” Harry said flatly, tossing the candy back.

Louis shrugged, “Never said I wasn’t.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Harry asked.

“Green,” Louis said, “Like grass on a sunny day in the park. You?”

“Blue, like a beautiful ocean,” Harry said easily.

“What does a beautiful ocean look like?” Louis asked, unable to picture the color Harry was referring to. 

“Your eyes,” Harry said easily.

Louis blinked and Harry flushed a pretty pink before turning away slightly, “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?” Louis asked.

“Because,” Harry took a little breath, “That...that crossed a bit of a line, didn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” Louis frowned, “I kind of liked hearing it.”

“You did?” Harry asked, “It didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” Louis shook his head, “I’ve never heard anyone say something so nice about my eyes before.”

“Well they’re quite beautiful eyes,” Harry tugged at a hangnail on his thumb.

“Thank you. You have quite beautiful eyes too, Harold,” Louis glanced to the fire, “Never seen emeralds before, but I imagine they look like your eyes.”

“If you could have any job in the world,” Harry said suddenly, changing the subject, “What would it be?”

“I never thought about that before,” Louis said earnestly, “Never really been allowed to think about it.”

“Well you can think about it now,” Harry encouraged.

“I like stories,” Louis said, turning back to the flames, “I like imagining other worlds and lives. I...I don’t know much about reading or writing. But I suppose in another world, I would. And therefore, in another world, I think I’d have liked to be a writer.”

“You don’t know how to read or write?” Harry frowned, displeased.

Louis merely shrugged, “It is what it is.”

“No, no it’s not what it is,” Harry promptly stood up from the chair and stalked over towards the desk across the room. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and a pen before waving Louis over, “Come here.”

“What are you doing?” Louis furrowed his brows as Harry began to write on the paper in big letters.

“Teaching you how to write.”

“You can’t teach me how to write in one night, Harold.”

“I know that, _Lewis_. But at the very least, I can teach you how to write your own name.”

Harry pushed the paper towards Louis on the desk, “Okay,” he said softly, “Louis. L-O-U-I-S. See this?” he pointed to the letters on the paper, “That’s your name. Louis. L-O-U-I-S.”

“L-O-U-I-S,” Louis repeated, “I-I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Harry said soothingly, “Take this pen and trace over the letters I wrote. Then try to copy them down beneath what I wrote.”

“O-okay,” Louis took the pen and began to trace the letters. He’d never seen his name written down anywhere before. Tracing the letters felt exciting. Harry was actually teaching him to write his name. No one had ever bothered to teach him that before.

“Now then,” Harry said gently, “Copy those letters below. Right there.”

Louis nodded and brought the pen down to the page again. In messy writing, he managed to scrawl out L-O-U-I-S. He looked down at his name and a huge smile broke out across his face.

“You did it!” Harry said excitedly, placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder, “You did it!”

“I did it!” Louis’ eyes lit up excitedly, “I did it, Harry! I wrote my name!”

“You did! Good job, Lou!”

“Teach me yours.”

“What?”

“I want to know how to write your name.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugged. I just...I want to.”

“Okay,” Harry took the pen from Louis, “My name is H-A-R-R-Y.” Harry wrote in big letters blow Louis’ name, his own name.

“Wait,” Louis lifted a finger and dragged his finger from the letters of his name to the letters of Harry’s, “Do we have the same number of letters?”

“We do,” Harry nodded, “Now trace my letters and then copy them below.”

“Okay,” Louis nodded and did as Harry said. He messily wrote Harry’s name below his own, “Look!” He pointed excitedly! "I did it!”

“You did, Louis! You did! Good job!” Harry praised.

Louis blushed under the praise, “Thank you,” he said softly, “No one’s ever taken the time to teach me before.”

“I wish I could teach you lots of things,” Harry smiled sadly.

“Like what?” Louis asked.

“Like how to read and how to write other words. I want to teach you so you can become a writer one day.”

“Harry,” Louis shook his head, “No. Those are silly dreams. They don’t mean anything.”

“They mean something to me,” Harry insisted, “If you want to be a writer, that means something to me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Harry left the desk to sit back in the armchair, “I just...I wish things were different.”

“How so?” Louis sat down across from him, carrying his paper with their names on it with him.

“I wish you and I could be friends. I...I like you. You make me laugh and I can have fun with you. You’re just...you’re sweet and funny and nothing at all like the friends I have in my world.”

“At least you have friends in your world,” Louis sighed sadly, “It’s just my mother and Mr. Cowell for me.”

Harry shook his head sadly, “When was the last time someone held you?”

“I-I don’t know,” Louis laughed at the question, “Why?”

“Because I am paying for the night, and we have to get some sleep at some point. And I was just wondering if you would be okay with me holding you tonight while we slept. It’s been awhile since I’ve had someone to hold, and it seems like it’s been awhile since you’ve been held. I just...I want to hold you.”

“You can hold me,” Louis said, feeling something flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, “You aren’t just saying that because...you think it’s something you need to do?”

“No,” Louis shook his head, “I want you to hold me. I do.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “Do you want to come to bed then?”

“O-okay,” Louis nodded, standing from the chair.

They made their way over to the massive bed against one wall of the bedroom. Louis had never seen a bed that looked so big or so comfortable in his life. He ran his hand over the plush duvet.

“I’m going to get undressed now,” Harry said, “But I’ll keep on my undershirt and pants. Is that alright?”

“That’s alright,” Louis nodded, “Can I do the same?”

“Of course,” Harry said before turning around to undress.

As Louis pulled his trousers down, he felt the fluttering return to his stomach. There was something inside him that didn’t want this night to end. Come morning, he would have to leave Harry and he’d have to go back to his life. Mr. Cowell probably already had clients already lined up for tomorrow. And that would be Louis’ life. There would be no more sweet boys who could tease and banter with him, and who were patient enough to listen to him, and to teach him how to write his name. No one had ever done that for him before, and it startled Louis to the core.

Harry climbed into the bed and patted the mattress, “Join me, please?”

Louis nodded and climbed into the bed next to him.

“Going to hold you now,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Louis. Louis sunk back into Harry’s embrace. He couldn’t remember a time where he felt so protected. The way Harry held him, touched him, was so soft and so gentle. Louis could only ever remember gruffness in his life. Harsh touches, harsh words. With Harry, it was all softness, all sweetness. It was like the almond pastries of his childhood.

“I wish the world would end tonight,” Louis said sadly.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, gently combing his fingertips through the hair at the back of Louis’ neck.

“Because it’d be perfect. I could die in your arms, Harry, and I wouldn’t be able to think of a happier way to go. Tomorrow’s going to come, and I’ll have to go home to Mr. Cowell and more clients. And they won’t be as kind and as sweet and as good as you. And that’ll be it for me, Harry. That’ll be the rest of my life. The world could end tonight, and it’d be a happy end.”

“Louis…” Harry said, his voice cracking slightly.

“I mean, I shouldn’t be shocked by it. I’ve been groomed for this my entire life. But still...I’m not ready for this life. And I never will be. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be used by men who can do anything they want to me. I don’t want to be a product to be purchased. I just...I want freedom. And blue skies and green grass and beaches.”

“Come away with me,” Harry said so softly that Louis barely heard what he’d said.

“Harry…” Louis stiffened, “Don’t...don’t joke about that. That’s cruel.”

“I’m not joking,” Harry said adamantly, “I’m not, Louis. I want to leave my life, and you want to leave yours. You don’t have the means to, and I do. I have the money from my grandfather. We could walk away from our lives and just go. We could travel the world together if we wanted. We could go to a private island with beautiful beaches and exotic birds and…”

Louis realized then that hot tears were running down his cheeks. Everything Harry was saying sounded so lovely, but they were just words. There was no way Louis could ever go with him. Besides, Harry was surely just talking shit. Harry was a son of the aristocracy and Louis was...Louis. There was no way Harry genuinely would want him to come along with him. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“You’re talking shit,” Louis sniffled, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

“Hey,” Harry nudged him, rolling him over so that they were facing each other. Harry brought up his hands to wipe Louis’ tears away with the pads of his thumbs, “I’m not, Louis. I swear to you, I’m not. I swear to _God_. You’re the first genuine thing I think I’ve ever experienced in my life. I know it’s silly. I know we’ve just met. I know this isn’t supposed to work. But fuck what’s _supposed_ to happen. I say make your own destiny. You say it’s your destiny to be an escort? Fuck that. No. Your destiny is to come away with me and for me to teach you how to read and write and for you to become a famous author one day. _That’s_ your destiny, Louis. Your destiny is what you want most in life. What do you want most in life?”

Louis ducked his head slightly before answering, “All of that.”

“Then go out and take it. I’m offering it. I genuinely am, Louis. You’re the first genuine thing in my life, Louis. The first bright thing that glows in my life. You’re gold, Louis. You’re gold and you’re a treasure. And I don’t want to let this treasure slip through my fingers.”

Louis blushed pink, “I’m not a treasure. I’m not anything special, Harry.”

“You’re everything special, Louis. _Everything_.”

“This isn’t just the night talking, is it?” Louis asked, “Like night-magic? And when the sun comes up, the night-magic fades, and all this talk is just talk of the night?”

“No,” Harry brushed another stray tear from Louis’ cheek, “It’s not just night-magic. When the sun comes up, I’ll still want to run away with you just as much as I do right now.”

“Where would we even go?” Louis asked, a soft smile breaking across his face.

“First, the Eiffel Tower. Because it’s a damn shame you’ve never seen it before. And then we’ll...we’ll get on a boat and we’ll sail away from here.”

“I-I don’t have anything.”

“I don’t have anything either,” Harry said, “Well, I have my money. But as far as possessions go, I’m leaving it all behind. It’ll just be you and me.”

“Just you and me,” Louis repeated, liking the sound of that.

\--

“Harry! Harry look!” Louis shouted, running through the front door with a brown package in hand

“What’s that, baby?” Harry asked, turning away from the bubbling pot of curry on the stove.

“You know what this is,” Louis said brightly, waving the package in front of Harry’s face.

Harry’s eyes went wide, “Is...is that…”

“Yeah! I think so! I mean, what else could it be, Harold?”

“Well I don’t know,” Harry huffed, turning down the heat on the stove, “Go on and open it then.”

“I’m scared,” Louis blushed, clutching the package to his chest, “I just...this is real, right?”

“Want me to pinch you to make sure?” Harry grinned wickedly, reaching out to pinch Louis on the hip.

“Stop that!” Louis giggled, swatting Harry’s hand, “Alright, I’m going to open it.”

“Okay,” Harry turned back to the pot of curry, “I’ll give you a moment then.”

Louis nodded and pulled the package down from his chest. He ran his hand over the address, _Mr. Louis William Styles, Kings Island_. Louis took a deep breath before ripping open the brown paper packaging. Inside, was a leather-bound book. Louis ran his fingertips over the cover - tracing the letters with his fingers. The letters of the title of his book, the letters of his last name. He opened the book to the first page, running his fingers over the letters of that page - the letters that spelled out, _“To my best friend and partner in life and always - my destiny. All the thank you’s in the world would never be enough. So I’ll thank you by loving you with all I am, with all of me, for all of my days.”_

“Alright you ginormous goofball,” Louis laughed, “I know you’re about to lose your mind - more so than you have already - with anticipation, so get over here and take a look.”

Harry pouted, “Hey...” and abandoned the pot on the stove and Louis handed the book to him, “I will have you know that I absolutely have _not_ lost my mind…”

“Hush you. Just look. And pay close attention to that first page, you bastard. I think there’s something written there that might interest you a tad,” Louis said, a massive smile breaking out across his face as he rocked on his feet, watching Harry turn to the first page and read the inscription.

“Louis…” Harry gasped, his eyes filling with tears.

“Don’t you go getting soppy on me, Harold,” Louis grinned, poking Harry in the tummy, “Now then, you finish up that curry and I’ll pack up some blankets. We’re eating dinner on the beach tonight, and after, we’ll lie on the blankets under the stars and I’ll read to you my book.”

“ _Your book,_ ” Harry repeated on a breath.

“ _My book,_ ” Louis felt overwhelmed. There was only one thing he could do - jump up on his tip-toes to press a soft peck to his boy’s lips before smirking and darting off with a warning of, “Don’t you dare let that curry burn, Harold! Burnt curry for a romantic celebratory picnic is just unacceptable.” 

Harry laughed, turning back to the stove. Louis paused in the doorway, watching Harry stir the pot of boiling curry with a wooden spoon, dimple popping as she lightly shook his head fondly. Louis bit his lower lip around a massive grin. His destiny was his, and he wouldn’t have his world any other way. 


End file.
